


The Exception

by RavenHairedPrincess



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Crimes Against Humanity, Dark Past, Disturbing Themes, Dom/sub, EWE, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, M/M, Other, PWP, Rape, Sexual Violence, Shameless Smut, Smut, Underage Fantasy, trigger warning for sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-19 14:49:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14239623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenHairedPrincess/pseuds/RavenHairedPrincess
Summary: Hermione Granger becomes a sexual healer after graduating Hogwarts, and Severus Snape requests her help. She is determined to help him, but will she be able to remain professional?





	1. The New Client

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own anything recognizable, J.K. Rowling does. Just writing in her world for fun. No profits made.

**Chapter One: The New Client**  
After struggling for the last two years trying to get her business up and running, Hermione Granger was finally starting to settle into her life. Though it was not a field she had ever considered during her career as a student, she felt quite accomplished being a successful entrepreneur at only twenty-two. The most frustrating thing about it, however, was that most people didn’t know that. Her clients had the right to their privacy. She couldn’t very well plaster the door with “Hermione Granger, Sexual Healer” and expect people to be brave enough to be seen entering her establishment. She had to resort to anonymous ads in the Prophet with instructions to owl an undisclosed location to set up a consultation. Upon evaluating a letter for its genuineness, she would meet said person at a secondary location where they would either accept a binding contract of silence regarding her office address and apparate there or be sent on their way. This, of course, is precisely why it had taken two years to build up enough regular customers to make a decent living.

She had spent months making her office appropriate as a sexual healer’s office. The front was a small waiting area with only three chairs, a plant, and a few semi-erotic paintings. The door in the corner of the room led to a small hallway with only three other doors. The first off to the right was her office where she held the consultations, the second on the right was set up like a studio apartment minus the bedroom, and the door on the left she called the “play room”. She was constantly changing that room to suit her client’s needs if the other rooms were insufficient.

“I’ll see you next Wednesday then, Tony,” she smiled at the kind faced twenty something wizard before closing and locking the front door to her office. She retreated to her desk to finish up some paperwork and conjured up a glass of wine. Tony was a sweet guy, but he was exhausting. He was a crier. His mother was a cold and distant woman, and Hermione felt for him. He came to her seeking a reparenting experience. He needed to feel nurtured and cared for. For the most part, she would bathe him when he got there and let him suck on her breast afterwards, which is usually when he would cry. She hadn’t pushed him any further than that yet because he was so emotionally volatile. Soon, she hoped.

Hermione heard an owl tapping on her front window. She let the owl in and shut the window as she offered it a biscuit. This was honestly the most annoying part of her job. She had to trap owls in case she had to respond to the letters, as she would otherwise not know where to send them. Most people requesting a consultation did not give her a name or any sort of identifying information. After retrieving the post, she picked up her glass of wine and opened the letter. She read:

 _Anonymous Healer,_  
_I wish to inquire about your services._  
_SS_

Hermione huffed to herself at the stuffy request for a consultation. _Typical as ever, of a man anyway_. Women inquiring usually wrote quite a bit more. Pleased with the prospect of a new customer, she penned a response:

  
_SS,_  
_Meet me at Tea Leaves Café in London at 5pm this Friday. Let me know if you require a different time. Otherwise, I’ll see you then._  
_Anonymous Healer_

  
Hermione sent the letter with the owl to return to its original sender, gathered her things and apparated back to her apartment. It had been an emotionally draining day, and she was ready for a good long soak in a warm bath. After having Tony as a customer for six weeks now, she was sure she was nowhere near ready to have kids.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione left work a little early to meet with SS at Tea Leaves Café. Her watch read 4:45pm when she glanced down at it before crossing the street in front of the shop. Upon entering, she found it was slightly busier than usual. There were hardly ever more than two or three people in the place, but tonight there were about ten altogether. She glanced around wondering if SS was already there or not. Unable to tell, she approached the counter pulling out her wallet. She took a seat at a small two seat table in the back corner after placing her beverage order. She watched and waited, but no one made eye contact with her or approached her. It was still a few minutes until 5pm, so she sipped her tea and pulled out a book from her bag. She held the book in front of her, so she could feign reading and keep an eye on the door.

The chime on the front door sounded and an unmistakable figure appeared. Severus Snape. SS. Hermione’s eyes snapped back to her book immediately in panic. Severus Snape, aside from perhaps looking a little less gaunt, hadn’t changed one bit since the war ended. His black robes swirled the floor as he approached the counter to order tea. Hermione’s heart pounded in her ears as she felt his eyes sweep over in her direction. He sat at a table in the opposite corner of the café as her. Apparently, he wanted to be as far away from her as he could be. She could understand that though. He did not yet know it was her he was there to meet, and if she were him, she wouldn’t want any former student privy to this private meeting either. Hermione took a deep breath and put her book back in her bag. _Now or never_ , she told herself.

With all the nerve she could muster, she calmly walked over to him and sat down. “Professor,” she greeted.

“Miss Granger,” he said narrowing his eyes at her, “though it is as much of a delight as always to be graced with your presence, I am expecting company.”

This was going to be difficult, she knew. “I _am_ the company you are waiting for,” she spoke softly and waited for him to respond. He paled slightly and clenched his jaw. His hands seemed to tighten around his mug.

“I would have thought you’d have made more of yourself,” he criticized turning his unease into an attack on her person.

“You judge, yet here you are in need of my services, Professor,” she reminded him firmly. He looked almost disappointed, and it causes her to feel badly for him. Hermione had no idea what kind of help he would need from her, but she imagined it must have been harder for him to ask for help than most people.

“I highly doubt you will be able to provide the service I require,” he purred challenging her.

“You know very well I always endeavor to succeed. Perhaps you should wait until the consultation is over to make that decision,” Hermione sighed pulling the two page magical contract from her bag and placed it on the table. Sliding it over in front of him she said, “You don’t have to decide anything now. This contract is strictly to keep the location of my office confidential to ensure my client’s privacy. If you’d like, you can sign it, and I’ll take us to my office where we will discuss whether or not I may be of any help to you.” Hermione had promised herself never to take on a client she knew personally, but she’d never been able to say no to him. Apparently the desperate need for his approval during her school years still followed her around.

“Just talk?” he asked. Hermione nodded slowly then sat quietly while he read the contract. “Very well,” he said waving his signature onto the paper after giving her a long calculating look.

“Shall we?” Hermione said standing and gesturing toward the door. This was her job, but she couldn’t help but feel nervous about this consultation. He followed her outside and a few paces away from the entrance. “I’m going to grab your arm and apparate us,” she informed. No sign of protest from him, she grabbed him by the wrist and directed their apparation into her office. “Have a seat,” she said motioning toward a comfy chair in front of her desk. She took her seat behind her desk as he tried to make himself comfortable.

“Obviously this is not ideal, but I still wish to know what services you provide,” he spoke quietly, yet confidently.

It was a big question, but it is one they all ask. Prepared with an answer, Hermione informed, “usually during the consultation, I discuss the client’s needs with him or her, and if we are both amiable, we set up the first appointment. Everyone has different needs. Erectile dysfunction, premature ejaculation, or arousal difficulty.” He frowned slightly, and she continued on, “Others have more unique needs, such as reparenting due to poor maternal attachment, some have behaviors they want help correcting. Honestly, the list is near endless. It might be easier if we talk about why you wanted a consultation.”

The look of annoyance on his face told Hermione he was not about to tell her flat out why he was there. No, Severus Snape never made things easier for her. He folded his arms as he spoke, “when you help someone correct a behavior, what does that entail?”

“It depends on the person and the behavior. Some are able to get control with self talk alone, while others need physical correction. I have clients who come here just to talk, and other clients who come to have their physical needs met. It is only as hands on as you need it to be. Of course, I do have my own limitations.”

“Physical correction?” he repeated in question.

She wondered if they were getting somewhere or if he was just derailing the conversation from returning to himself. “Dominance and submission can be cathartic, but due to obvious safety reasons, I only play the dominant with my clients,” she explained. When he nodded and looked off toward the fireplace she continued, “whip, riding crop, the cane, restraints.”

Hermione watched Professor Snape’s mouth twitch. “That is what I am here for,” he said swallowing hard, as if he was literally swallowing his pride. Hermione leaned back in her chair surveying him skeptically. He sounded genuine, and someone of power such as himself was frequently the submissive, but it just didn’t fit with him. Many powerful men find it erotic to be submissive, but Severus Snape, miserable for over a decade playing cat and mouse under two masters just did not make sense. He was the most dominant being she has ever met. The thought made her squeeze her legs together. Though she would never have admitted it at the time, she had her fair share of detention fantasies with the dark wizard. She suspected all the girls did, but it was never something they talked about. The subject was far too embarrassing for a teenage girl. She didn’t want to challenge him and scare him off before he had even made an appointment with her, so she would have to play his game to find out what was really going on with the him.

“I can do that for you,” she said in acknowledgement. The thought of having the most intimidating wizard in the world submit to her made her eager. She reminded herself to be professional. He came to her because he needs help, not so she can get off. Perk of the business though, and the gods know what she put up with for some of her clients.

He cleared his throat and straightened his robes, “I’d like to make an appointment if you are agreeable, then.”

“I assume you would prefer the weekend as you are still teaching, correct?” she asked pulling out another larger contract. He nodded and took the papers from her. “Please read over all the information. It’s disclaimers mostly. When you get to the section on session types, you only need to initial the submissive’s agreement. Also, please fill out the back page. Put a check by anything you want to be off limits. I will sign it as well once you have filled it out. I will respect your boundaries, and I expect you to respect mine.

“Of course,” he said quickly. “Sunday evening is actually best for me. Do you take evening appointments?”

 _No_. “I do. Sunday at 7pm, then,” she offered. She stood and extended her hand to him. He looked at it quizzically for a moment before taking it in his own. His hand was warm and made her own feel small. “You are in Bristol by the way. The address is on top of the form. You can apparate directly into my waiting room.”

“Sunday then,” he gave her a curt nod and disapparated.


	2. The First Appointment

Chapter Two: The First Appointment

Hermione looked herself over in the mirror. She was wearing a fitted black cocktail dress, black heels, and a pearl necklace with matching earrings. She looked elegant. She hadn’t changed too much since leaving Hogwarts, but her face had matured somewhat. She was a petite woman; slender hips and small yet adequate breasts. If anything, she wished she could just be a little taller. Even with heals on, she was only about 5’5”. She heard the tell tale sign of apparation in her waiting room. Precisely on time, she thought glancing at the clock. She opened the door to the waiting room and greeted him, “Professor.” 

“Miss Granger,” he said following her back into her office. Sitting down, he placed the signed papers on her desk. She sat back and looked them over to ensure he had signed and initialed in all the correct places. She needed to look over the last page. Usually she would have a day or sometimes even a week to look it over, but not tonight. Tonight she would have to remember all the information with only a few moments to look it over. She was quite perplexed seeing how much he had crossed off. For the most part, the only things he left uncheck were physical punishment in some form of striking. None of the other things were relevant to tonight anyway, so she didn’t have to think much about it. She quickly signed the paper, made a duplicate and handed it back to him. “This is your copy. Have you chosen a safe word?”

“Quaffle,” he said studying a painting on the wall.

“Since it’s your first appointment, I’ll let you decide where we start. Tell me what you need, Severus,” she said gently.

“I would prefer it if you called me Professor or Sir,” he said sternly, his eyes snapping back to her.

That is absolutely the opposite of submissive. Her eyes searched his expression looking for any confirmation that he might also think this was odd. When she found none, she said, “Of course, Professor. Tell me what you need.”

He cleared his throat and looked away from her again before speaking, “I need,” he paused for several long seconds, “to be punished.” He was so quiet she almost couldn’t hear him. He often lectured that way, Hermione remembered, but this was different. It was lacking the self-assuredness he always possessed. 

“What am I punishing you for? What have you done, Professor?” she questioned mimicking his hushed tone to put him at ease.

“I haven’t done anything,” he stated defensively crossing his arms over his chest as a subconscious act of self-preservation. 

Hermione sighed internally. This was not going to be easy at all. Usually people want to be punished to alleviate guilt from something they’ve done. She mused it could be about something he should have done but hadn’t or perhaps something he wanted to do but hasn’t. Thoughts can be just as guilt provoking as actions at times. “I’ll allow it, but only this once. After tonight, I’ll need a reason if I am to punish you. If you wish to return after tonight, you’ll have to be willing to give me more.” When he nodded, she continued, “follow me.” She led him out into the hallway and into the “play room”. She walked him over to a cabinet and opened the doors. “I’ll let you choose your punishment this time. Don’t expect it in the future though, Professor,” she said looking into his black eyes. 

 

She watched him look over the contents of the cabinet. “Which inflicts the most pain?” he asked.

“That’d be the cane, Profressor,” she answered from experience. 

He didn’t hesitate before picking up the cane. Brutal, especially for their first encounter. He looked at the floor when he handed it to her. She wasn’t sure if he was embarrassed. She hoped he wasn’t for his sake because they haven’t even done anything yet. Waving her wand, the lights dimmed significantly. “Remove your outer robe and place it over the back of that chair over there,” she demanded. 

His eyes met her once again, and she felt her stomach flutter as his hands plucked away at all those buttons. “Your shoes and socks now,” she directed as he placed his robe over the chair. Watching him sit in the chair to remove his footwear, Hermione realized she had never seen the man in anything less than full on teaching robes. She took in his appearance appreciatively. He sat waiting for her command barefoot, in black slacks and a white dress shirt. He looked fucking sexy. Hermione wondered if she had been a saint in a previous life to be given such a gift. And gods, if she could get him to whimper, to beg, to see him lose control. “Now, take off your shirt,” she said softly.

He looked up at her in apparent hesitation before slowly unbuttoning his shirt. Little glimpses of his lean torso were flashing at her showing a light dusting of hair across his chest. Once his shirt was completely off, she waved her wand toward the ceiling and watched his eyes follow in that direction. Chains with black leather cuffs on the ends clattered down echoing in the room. 

“Come here,” she instructed walking to the chains dangling from the rafters. He stood and walked to her slowly, his bare feet making no sound on the cold stone floor. Turning to him, she said, “here,” she gestured, “arms up.” When he put his arms up, she waved her wand again and the cuffs secured themselves around his wrists, spreading his arms wide at shoulder height. She tightened the chains leaving him with only a little room to move in response to her strikes. Enough to see him jerk, she smirked to herself. She circled around him and looked at his lean back. Delicious. “Now, I think these will be in my way,” she said coming back around to face him. His eyes were locked on hers, and his expression was unreadable. He flinched when she reached for his belt buckle but said nothing. 

“Are you feeling a little shy, Professor?” she asked him with a knowing smile.

“No,” he ground out. 

“When you speak to me in this room, you will address me as Mistress. Now, say ‘no, Mistress’,” she warned with her expression suddenly serious.

Finally, he looked uncomfortable. She could tell he did not want to call her that. He seemed to struggle internally before speaking as if he were trying to decide the fate of the world, “no, Mistress,” he said quietly sounding somewhat defeated. It wasn’t as rewarding as Hermione had envisioned it. Seeing him vulnerable didn’t feel right, and it made her question whether she ought to be doing this to him. He asked for this, she reminded herself.

“That’s better,” she told him unbuttoning his pants and going for the zipper. His leg moved slightly, and she could tell he was trying not to show how uncomfortable he was. Bending down, Hermione pulled his pants down around his ankles. Rising slowly, she ran her hands up his long lean thighs pausing momentarily when she was level with his tight black boxer briefs. He had a sizable bulge under there, even without an erection. Promising, she thought. Coming face to face with him once again, she whispered, “tell me what you need from me.” His black eyes fixed on hers and then closed as if to block her out. “Open your eyes,” she snapped at him. She was not about to let him take control. If that’s what he wanted, which would make more sense to her than this, he would have to admit it first. “Tell me, and I will give you want you need.”

Looking at her once again he said, “I need the cane, Mistress.” His words were thick, and she knew they didn’t come out of him easily. She would reward him for his efforts. After picking up the cane and moving behind him, she said, “I want you to think about why you are being punished. ” Using her foot, she spread his legs as far as his ankles trapped by his pants would allow. She tapped his ass with the cane in warning. Whack! The first strike made him pull his arms in causing the chains clank. He made no sound, however. She tapped in warning again a little lower than the first. Whack! This time, he kept his arms steady. Taking it like a champ. We’ll see after the next few. She tapped on the spot of the first strike again. Whack! That one was a little harder than the first and was sure to sting, but he seemed unfazed. Back to the spot of the second, tap, whack! Quite a bit harder this time. The chains jingled, but only a little. 

Feeling somewhat disappointed, Hermione set her sights a little lower. She tapped gently on the back of his thighs. Whack! She only struck him as hard as her second blow, but it was a painful spot for sure. Still, he remained silent. She could tell he was in pain though as his chest was heaving beautifully and his thighs were trembling. Sensing he needed a break, Hermione knelt down on the stone behind him and ran her hand up the back of one of his abused thighs. Gently she pressed her lips to the red line that was quickly becoming visible. He jerked away rather violently, causing Hermione to fall backwards only just catching herself with her hands. Hermione did not expect that reaction, and did not know what to say to him. Yes, she could understand why Severus Snape would respond that way, but she could not understand why a submissive would. The two just couldn’t be reconciled in her brain. 

“Tell me what you need, Professor,” she instructed standing back up.

“The cane, Mistress,” he said softly. “That is all,” he sounded almost pleading. 

“I’ll give you the cane, but you’ll take everything I give you. Not just what you want. That’s not how this works. Now say, ‘yes, Mistress’,” she warned him.

He inhaled deeply. Hermione wasn’t sure if he was going to want to leave and never come back, or if this was what he wanted. “yes, Mistress,” he forced out.

“Good. Close your eyes. Keep them closed until I say otherwise,” she instructed deciding to heighten his anxiety. She would have to do more than use the cane to take him where he claimed to want to be. He closed his eyes and she circled him several times, her heals clicking softly on the floor. Still no erection, she noted. Moving back behind him, she hooked her fingers in the waist of his underwear and dragged them down in the back enough for his ass cheeks to pop out. He stiffened at her touch, so she left his genitals covered. Who would have thought I would have to be so delicate with him, she thought. His ass was beautiful, and she had to firmly tell herself not to bit it. Not yet. With the cane, she tapped on the lower red line. Whack. The hardest hit yet. The chains jostled but it was the only sound in the room. Tapping the top red mark from earlier, she gave him another whack just as hard as the last. His breathing was becoming heavier. One more, she decided and tapped between the two red lines across his ass that were becoming welts. Whack. 

“Uh-,” escaped his mouth as he jerked on the chains. Finally, she thought. “Would you like another, Professor?” she asked lightly running her hand over the angry red lines on his ass.

His breathing was back to normal now, and his answer was sure, “I want however many you are willing to give me.”

Whack! The chains shook violently as the cane landed on the backs of his legs. “Is that how you address me? I’m doing you a favor, and you treat me with such disrespect?” her tone conveying disapproval.

“I want however many you are willing to give me, Mistress,” he panted. 

Had she not known he could take it, she never would have hit him that hard there. Merlin, that  
must have hurt like a bitch. If she had hit him any harder, she would have broken skin. Deciding that was enough, she slid his briefs back up over his burning ass earning her a hiss at the contact with the welts. “Are your eyes still closed, Professor?” she asked.

“Yes, Mistress,” he answered quickly.

“Very good, have you been thinking about why you are being punished?” she questioned. 

“Yes, Mistress,” he said quietly.

“Good. Are you ready to tell me what you’ve been thinking about?” she pressed needing to know more. He shook his head. “Answer me when I ask you a question,” she demanded.

“No, Mistress,” he answered sounding small. 

Feeling slightly disappointed she asked, “did you enjoy the cane, Professor?” She came around to face him. His eyes were still closed. He had his head hung and his hair was hanging down in his face.

He answered, “no, Mistress.”

No? Well that explains the lack on an erection, but it does not at all explain why he specifically asked for this treatment this evening. We have some talking to do if I am to continue with this. I can’t just beat him senseless, and for no bloody apparent reason, she said to herself. “Open your Eyes,” she commanded. “If you decide you would like to come back next week, we will spend however long it takes in my office for you to convince me that you need my services. Do not mistake me for some prostitute who would gladly bet you bloody for an hour just to take your money.” Once she pulled up his pants, she placed the back of her hand against his flaccid member, so she could zip him up without fear of getting him caught in it. His stomach muscles clenched at the contact and she smirked at him. Big, indeed. She continued, “this is a therapeutic environment. One in which goals are a necessity. Tonight was an exception, of course, to see that we can work together, trust each other.” She waved her wand at the straps securing his wrist and released him. “Get dressed,” she instructed while placing the cane back in the cupboard. “Do you understand?”

“Yes Mistress,” he replied picking up his shirt. She leaned against a metal table pushed up against the wall and watched him dress hoping to make him uncomfortable. Merlin knows if he will come back. After he was dressed, she led him back to her office. Grabbing a business card off her desk, she spoke handing it to him, “I’ll keep the same time open for you next week. I would appreciate an owl if you’d like to cancel or reschedule.”

He frowned looking at the card, but said, “Thank you, Miss Granger,” not meeting her eyes.

 

Something about his defeated disposition was tugging at her heart. Whatever it was that was bothering him, she was going to do her best to help him. Laughing she said, “isn’t it customary for the merchant to thank the customer?” Her smile faded to an expression of concern, “I want to help you with whatever it is you are struggling with, Professor. I’m willing to continue working with you as long as you are willing to put a few cards on the table so to speak. Just think about it, okay?”

He nodded and cleared his throat. “Miss Granger,” he said in parting before disapparating.


	3. Beating Around the Bush

Chapter Three: Beating Around The Bush

Hermione waited in her office Sunday evening unsure if Professor Snape was going to show up. He had not owled to cancel, but that certainly didn’t mean he was coming. She chose a white blouse, black pencil skirt, and a feminine up do. She was picking at her nail polish when she heard that familiar pop in the room next door. She took a few deep breaths before entering her waiting room. “Professor!” she smiled at him.

He furrowed his brows, “you seem surprised to see me?” He was dressed the same as always; tall, dark, and brooding as ever.

“A little,” she said in honesty leading him into the room which looked like a small apartment. “I haven’t a clue how you felt about last week. But of course you know you’re not the easiest person to read.” 

“Your services were adequate,” his expression was blank, “which is why I’ve returned.” He took a seat in the chair by the fireplace and watched her sit in the chair across from his. His eyes fluttered over her exposed knees as she crossed her legs, but he quickly looked away. Hermione poured them each a cup of tea she had set out in case he showed up. She pushed the cream and sugar toward him, but he waved her off.

“Black is fine,” he spoke smoothly. “Thank you.” They sat in silence for a few minutes. Hermione waited. People hate silence, often to the point where they will fill it with anything. She didn’t want to push him yet, so she waited until he was ready to talk. A twitch of his mouth caught her eye before he finally spoke, “I’m not one for small talk, so perhaps we should just get right to it.” She nodded and waited for him to continue. “What do you need to know?” he asked.

“What is the punishment for?” she answered simply. “What behavior are we correcting?”

He let out a controlled sigh. Setting his cup of tea down on the coffee table he leaned forward on his elbows. “It is not to correct a behavior,” he stated firmly.

“Then what is its purpose? What is it correcting?” she persisted.

He rubbed his face with his hands and then looked into the fire. He spoke softly, “it is to condition a different response to some unwanted cognitions I have.” He struggled with finding the words clearly meaning to be as vague and detached as he could be.

Well, that makes sense. However, it may not be the best approach. No one should be punished for their thoughts. “So your plan is to have me beat it out of you…whatever these specific sexual urges are. Is it?” she asked wanting to address how silly this sounded.

“I don’t know what else to do,” he was getting short with her now. This conversation was making him the most uncomfortable she had seen him yet. 

“How long have you been dealing with this, Professor?” she asked.

“I suppose it started when I was a young adult,” he said looking at her. “The last few years of the war it was…different. Anyhow, at this point, I just want to be rid of them.”

“Are these desires for other wizards?” she asked gently wanting to make very sure that she was not going to participate in anything like this reparative muggle therapy she had read about. It was absolutely distasteful.

“No,” he frowned at her. “I wouldn’t be here if they were.”

“I see,” she nodded not fully understanding all of his meaning. “Well, in that case, I think we didn’t go about things the best way last Sunday. Tell me, these urges, how were they over the last week.”

“They were only slightly better than usual,” he answered.

“I think a different approach may be more beneficial, but you’d have to be willing to be rather uncomfortable during our session. Are you willing to try?” she asked him.

“Anything,” he said mirroring her standing position.

“Come,” she instructed raising from her chair and walking to the door. He followed her into the play room and quietly shut the door behind him. “Remove everything but your underwear and sit in that chair over there.” Looking over the objects in her cabinet, she decided on the riding crop. Turning back to him, she asked, “Do you remember your safe word?”

“Yes, Mistress,” he confirmed removing his shoes. He took his time removing his shirt and pants while she watched him patiently. Once he was seated, she waved her wand and secured his wrists and ankles to the arms and legs of the chair. Professor Snape watched her pick up a strip of fabric off the table and approach him.

“It’ll be easier for you to stay focused with a blindfold on,” she explained folding the cloth in two. Noticing his apprehension, she said warningly, “is there a problem?”

“No, Mistress,” he breathed. He shut his eyes as she tied the blindfold on him. “Now, I want you to picture one of these witches you have these fantasies about. Can you see her clearly in your mind?” she asked him.

“Yes, Mistress,” he said frowning. Hermione could have molested him until he was hard enough to fuck, just by the look of him helplessly strapped to the chair, but she stayed focused. 

“Good. I’m going to ask you some questions to help you along, but you don’t have to answer all of them. Just answer what you are comfortable with to let me know you are still with me. I want you to picture however this fantasy starts. Are you in a supermarket, an alley, a pub perhaps? Can you see where the two of you are?” she questioned walking around him slowly.

“Yes, Mistress,” he said hanging his head.

“Mmm, something happens to start the interaction. Picture it. Is it a brush of the hand, a glance through a crowd, does she think no one is watching? Walk through the beginning that sets it into motion,” she said into his ear from behind him. He leaned his head away from her, but she wasn’t sure if he was getting distracted by her closeness or embarrassed. “What is happening inside of you at this part in the fantasy, Professor? What are you feeling?” she encouraged him to express himself.

“Frustrated, Mistress,” he growled in a low voice. He was breathing more deeply now. 

Frustrated? Interesting. “Are you aroused at this point?” she asked noticing the bulge in his briefs was slightly bigger, indicating the blood was flowing that direction now.

“Not yet, Mistress,” he hissed in a hushed tone.

“Let the fantasy play out in your mind until you get there. Once you’re there, stay there in that moment. Watch what she is doing, Professor. Is she seducing you or the other way around?” she went on as she continued to walk around him. “Is she refusing you? Is she begging you to touch her? Is she begging you to stop?” she asked quietly watching his body language very closely. He was at least half hard now. It was a beautiful thing, like a monster not fully awake yet snuggling against his inner thigh slightly stretching the fabric of his black briefs. His breathing was becoming heavier with each passing minute. 

Hermione stopped in front of him and leaned down placing her hands on his knees. His knuckles turned white grasping the arms of the chair so tightly. “What do you want her to do, Professor? What do you want to do to her?” she whispered seductively.

“NO!” he barked struggling against his restraints. “Never,” he panted shaking his head.

She knew he was on the edge of the fence. All he needed was a gentle nudge and a little reassurance. He had to be there in the fantasy in order to link the thoughts with the pain of the riding crop. Softly she reminded him, “It’s just us here, Professor. No one else will know, and you have to go there. You can’t keep pushing it away. Do you think you can continue?”

“Okay,” he nodded and took a deep breath. She let it go that he did not call her Mistress. Now was not the time to correct him for that.

“I know you want to touch her, Professor,” she picked up where she had left off with her hands now moving up his thighs a few inches. “Go ahead and touch her. Picture her reaction to you. Does she like what you’re doing to her? Is she wet?” she asked. He whimpered, and she saw his abdomen tightening. He was fully erect now, and Hermione had to do her best not to stare at the beast. Focus! She scolded herself. She stood up and grabbed the riding crop. “I want you to stay there in this fantasy.” She taped the inside of his thigh with the crop. Whack! She slapped it hard against the inside of his thigh high enough to inspire fear in most men. He flinched, gritting his teeth and pulling hard on the unforgiving restraints. 

After tapping on the inside of his other leg, she gave him another hard whack. He grunted and tried to pull his trembling thighs together. Setting the riding crop down, she said, “I think it’s time for a break, Professor. You did well.” He let out a relieved sigh, and she reminded him, “say ‘thank you, Mistress’.” 

“Thank you, Mistress,” he parroted and leaned his head back.

She freed one of his hands and put a glass in it. “It’s just water,” she informed, “drink. We’ll continue once you’ve finished with it. Leave the blindfold on.”

“Yes, Mistress,” complied and brought the water up to his lips spilling a little down his torso. He shivered at the icy contact. Hermione watched him take a few sips and let her eyes wander to the twin red spots on his thighs that were sure to bruise. Knowing she needed to increase the intensity of this fantasy, whatever it was, she decided a little role-playing was in order. Easier said than done, she thought not having much to go on. She just needed a few more small details. Once he was finished with the water, she took the glass from him, and secured his free wrist back in its restraint. 

“Are you ready to continue, Professor?” she asked him hoping for an honest answer.

“I am, Mistress. Thank you for the water,” he replied. He was mostly flaccid once again, which was where she needed him to be.

“Tell me, this fantasy you want to be rid of, is it always the same, or does it vary?” she asked.

He hesitated before answering her, “there are a few, Mistress.”

“Okay, this time I want you to think of a different one. Imagine where you are. Think of what the place looks like, smells like. Now, I want you to imagine that the witch is there. I want you to imagine I am the witch. Can you do that for me?” she asked watching him carefully. He nodded but had a pained look on his face. “Good,” she offered. “I’m standing in front of you,” she said walking up to him, stopping when one of her legs was touching the inside of his knee. He tensed, but she persisted, “visualize what I’m wearing. Tell me what you see, Professor,” she asked gently hoping he would give her an answer because she wasn’t sure where she was to go from here.

“uh-skirt,” he breathed. 

That’s not nearly enough to go on, she complained to herself. She watched his Adam’s apple shift up and down. Gods! How she wanted to bite the skin next to it. She urged him to continue, “and what else?”

Turning his head to the side he quietly said, “socks.”

Who wears socks with a skir-OH! She tried to quickly wrap her mind around it. No wonder he didn’t want to have these thoughts. He still needed to tell her, so she could help him. Kneeling down in front of him, she placed her hand on top of his thigh and asked, “am I a student, Professor?”

He was visibly panicking. “I have NEVER touched a student,” he growled adamantly. His jaw muscles were tight, and the veins in his neck were pumping furiously.

Moving her hand form his thigh to gently grab his hand she soothed, “it wasn’t an accusation, Professor. But I do need to know if I am to help you. I want to help you not judge you.”

His head still turned to the side, a tear slipped out from under the blindfold. “Only the older ones. I swear it-, I swear it on my mother’s grave,” he finally spoke shaking his head. “I’ve never, never touched any of my students,” he repeated as if pleading his case outside the gates of hell.

 

“I believe you. You haven’t done anything wrong, Professor. Thank you for trusting me,” she said wiping away a few tears wetting his cheeks. There must be more, she thought. Many men have schoolgirl fantasies. Being an educator makes it more complicated, but not that unusual. “I think I understand a little better why you don’t want these thoughts. It must be difficult for you to have to deal with them all alone during the week. Shall we continue, or do you need a break?”

“Let’s just get on with it, Mistress. Please. I just want them to go away,” he begged.

Hermione had never heard him beg before. His words felt heavy in her chest. He was hurting, and she hated it. “Very well,” she complied with his request. Clearing her throat she continued, “I image we are at the school. Your classroom, probably?” He only nodded, but didn’t say anything. “I assume you remember me as a student, Professor. I’m in your classroom with you now. Can you see us in your classroom?” Again he only nodded. “Good. Tell me what is happening.”

He was quiet for a few minutes. Hermione waited until he was ready. Finally he spoke, “You thought you could get away with stealing from me again, but I’ve caught you.”

Hermione was glad he was wearing a blindfold and could not see her blushing. Aside from accidentally turning herself into cat-girl, she was never punished for stealing from him in her second year. Back in her school days, she herself had a few fantasies that started out this same way. But this was not about her, so she directed him to focus on himself in the situation he was creating, “tell me how that makes you feel. Tell me what you are thinking about after you catch me in the act.”

Frowning he said, “angry, but more disappointed than anything else.” Hermione was surprised by his answer and felt a bit guilty. It’s not real, get a hold of yourself, she chided her insecurities. “I’m thinking I shouldn’t let you get away with it again. You need to be punished,” he shifted in the chair uncomfortably when he said the last word. 

Hermione almost wet herself hearing, ‘you need to be punished’ in that deep threatening voice. Yes, she wanted to be punished by him. The Gods were playing a cruel joke on her, for sure. Shaking off her own thoughts, she whispered, “what are you going to do to me, Professor?”

Panic resurfacing, he quickly answered, “nothing.” He shook his head, “I’m not going to do anything. I can’t. I would never hurt you.”

Hermione searched his face for understanding. He looked painfully conflicted and was starting to get an erection again. He shifted once more in the chair, apparently willing it not to happen. She could see just how much he was struggling with this, just how much distress it was really causing him. To reassure him he was in a safe place and wasn’t being judged, she placed her hand on his once more. It was a small comfort, but a necessary one for him to be brave enough to continue. “You’re not hurting me, Professor. We’re just talking.” Watching him take deep steadying breathes she could tell this was causing him great anxiety. She encouraged him to let it out, “I know you would never hurt me, but…you want to don’t you?”

“Not really hurt you, just-“ he shook his head again and ground his teeth. His knuckles were turning white again gripping the chair with aggravated force. He was fully erect again. If he wasn’t clearly in so much pain, Hermione would have struggled not to use him for her own pleasure.

She nodded in understanding, but spoke once she remembered he could not see her, “you want to hurt me, but you want me to like it,” she offered.

“Yes,” he hissed out. Hanging his head, he took a shuddering breath.

“Professor,” she started, “a lot of people have these kinds of fantasies. While I can understand why who you are thinking about causes you stress, I do not fully understand why the acts are so troubling to you.”

A horribly sad expression came across his face, “This cannot be what I want. It’s not right. I watched him hit her. All the time.” He was crying again but explained, “every time I- I cannot help but think about it. About him.”

“Who, Professor?” she questioned trying to follow him. She briefly thought of Voldemort, but before she could dismiss the thought, he answered.

“My father. He beat her. What am I to make of it if I want to-,” he shook his head profusely. 

This was crushing information for Hermione to hear. Everything made perfect sense now. Horrified by the mistake she had made agreeing to punish him for these thoughts not knowing what they were, she quickly stood up and released the restraints, and summoned his clothes.

“What are you doing? Aren’t you going to punish me?” he sounded worried.

“No,” she told him simply. “I’m going to dress you, and then we are going to talk some more.”

Disappointed he said, “yes, Mistress.”

Hermione worried he thought he had done something wrong, but she couldn’t bring herself to continue the conversation just yet. Fuming over her own foolishness, she finished buttoning up his shirt. Taking his legs one at a time, she put his pants back on him. She pulled his arm gently to get him to stand, and finished dressing him. Taking the last few seconds to collect herself before removing his blindfold, she shook her head thinking about how this one man always seemed to be the one exception to every fucking rule. Always. Hermione untied the blindfold and grabbed him by the hand. “Come,” she told him.

She closed her office door behind him and sat behind her desk. “Please, sit,” she requested.

Tentatively, he sat and asked, “you can’t help me can you?”

“Not in the way you’ve asked me to. I owe you an apology, I’m afraid,” seeing him look at the ground defeated she hurried to her point. “I never should have punished you. That was my fault. Had I known what you were dealing with, I would have told you up front that beating it out of you won’t work. If you were getting erections every time you looked at a tree or something, perhaps. But not-,” she paused. He was still not looking at her. “Please look at me,” she stated wanting to snap him out of being consumed by his humiliation. When he met her gaze, she continued, “I might still be able to help you, but I will never hit you again. 

“How, then?” he wanted to know badly. He sounded desperate and it was painful for her to hear.

Hermione knew what she had to do in order to help him, but it was tricky. She would have to get him to act out his fantasy, which wasn’t going to be easy, considering how hard it was for him to even talk about. Once he did, however, he would be able to see that it is not what he has made it in his mind. If he could replace the memories of his abusive father with memories of a witch enjoying his control, he would not have to feel guilty about his desire. She would have to press him hard enough to make him lose control of his resolve and act on this desires, though. Anything less would cause more harm than good, effectively traumatizing him further. She needed to talk to Catherine. 

Hermione cleared her throat before she spoke, “I was tortured during the war. Afterwards, I was hardly able to stand anyone touching me, let alone sexually. It caused a lot of heartache for me. I took a cruise to get away from everything. That is where I met Catherine.” He was listening intently to her story. “She is the one who helped me overcome my aversion to being touched, my fear of not being in control. She trained me to have a different response to such things; she gave me my life back. I was unaware when I first met her, but Catherine was- is a dominatrix. She is the one who taught me. It made such a difference in my life, that this is why I chose this career path. I wanted to help people who were struggling the way that I was.”

Professor Snape sat quietly looking down at his hands as she continued, “if you are agreeable, I think she would meet with us. I think she could help better than I alone. I trust her. She is a professional, and understands the importance of confidentiality. I believe she attended school in America if that matters at all to you.”

His brows furrowed as he asked, “would she punish me instead of you?”

“No-no! I wouldn’t allow her to touch you. I don’t want to get into it too much, but let’s just say she would be joining us to help me, rather than to help you. Think about it and let me know, okay? If you’ll allow her here, I’ll have to make arrangements with her.”

“And you think this might work for me? Allowing her in our session?” he asked skeptically.

“I believe it may be the only way I am able to help you. If not, I’m afraid the only thing I could recommend is a traditional talk-therapist to sort through the horrible things you’ve seen and separate them from the areas of your life they are effecting,” she said apologetically.

He made a disgusted face, “let’s try this Catherine woman first. She sounds less horrifying.”

Hermione gave him a small smile and said, “I’ll let you know if we need to meet at a different time. You should probably hear from me by Thursday.”


	4. Miss Catherine

“Thank you for meeting me early, Professor,” Hermione gestured for Professor Snape to follow her into the living quarters.

“No trouble, Miss Granger,” he replied walking over to the chair near the fireplace. “No thank you,” he waved off her offer for a glass of wine.

“I insist,” she said knowing she needed all the help she could get lowering his guard. She sat in the other chair as he reluctantly sipped the merlot. I asked you to come early because I wanted to speak with you before Catherine gets here.” She continued when he nodded in understanding, “You are not to address me as Mistress this evening. Simply Miss Granger. Catherine is Miss Catherine to me. If I call her anything else, she will be unforgiving.”

“Isn’t that unusual for a woman of her profession?” he questioned.

Hermione laughed, “a bit, I suppose. She doesn’t like the intimacy Mistress implies. Anyway, I’ve instructed her not to touch you tonight, but if she tells you to do something, you are to do it.” He looked a little confused, but he would have to remain that way for now. “She knows your safe word is quaffle.”

“If she isn’t going to be punishing me, why would I need it?” he sounded as though he was getting a bit annoyed at being in the dark regarding the evening’s events. 

“I expect you to be quite uncomfortable. It is necessary, I assure you. I must tell you, however, that if you use our safe word, there will be no need to return here. There will be nothing else I can do for you,” she said sadly. She watched him nod and take another sip of his wine. Hearing Catherine apparate into the waiting room, Hermione set her glass of wine down on the coffee table. “Wait here,” she told him.

Hermione was far more nervous than she let on. She was unable to bring herself to tell Catherine who this client was when she had met with her a few days before. The knowing look of disapproval on Catherine’s face would have crushed her. “Miss Catherine, thank you for coming,” Hermione said kissing the woman on the cheek. 

Catherine frowned at the petite witch in front of her, “I had expected you to be ready when I got here.”

“Yes, well, I thought better of it. He’s already here. I suspect if I had been dressed for tonight when he arrived, he’d have run for the hills,” she explained her unpreparedness. “He is in the living room. If you would like to introduce yourself and give me a few minutes, I’ll be set to go. Bring him to the play room after five minutes, please.”

“You know I hate small talk,” she glared at Hermione before giving in. “Very well,” Catherine stated taking off her long gloves and tucking them into the pocket of her traveling cloak. 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione entered the play room and began to change her clothes. She had spent nearly three hours that morning transfiguring the room to vaguely replicate the potions classroom. She had been so determined to do right by him, that she was only just now aware of how terrifying this would be for her. Yes, she had been in many compromising situations with Miss Catherine before, and she had at times had fleeting fantasies about the man sitting in her living room, but it was never a reality. She never imagined she would one day be on display for him. Would he be cruel to her as he always had been? With her stomach in knots, she wrung her fingers in nervous anticipation.

She sat at the table in front of the desk she had transfigured to look like Professor Snape’s desk. Hearing Miss Catherine outside the door, Hermione wiped her sweaty palms on her red plaid skirt. 

“You intentionally neglected to provide me with pertinent information, Miss Granger. I am most displeased. You knew I wouldn’t be happy about this, and still you chose to omit the fact that your client was one of your professors, the infamous Professor Snape, no less? Did you honestly think I wasn’t going to figure that out, girl?” Catherine lectured as she came into the playroom. Hermione noted the lack of Professor Snape following her, and was grateful he hadn’t heard that.

“No, Miss Catherine. I knew you would. I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you. I’m sorry,” Hermione tried to explain.

“Not yet, you’re not. If I were you, I’d be absolutely mortified right now,” Catherine warned pursing her lips. “This may all be for his benefit, but don’t forget you are still submissive to me. Come over here,” Catherine demanded walking over to the transfigured teacher’s desk. “I want you on your knees. You are to sit here until I return with Professor Snape and think about how unprofessional you have been. Don’t let your mind wander to what we may be talking about while you’re in timeout,” Catherine smiled sweetly at Hermione’s look of horror. 

“How long will I have to wait for you, Miss Catherine?” Hermione asked worried about the answer.

“As long as it takes for you to be trembling in fear, my dear,” Catherine said walking back out the door, shutting it behind her. 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He finished my drink and sat while waiting for Miss Catherine to return. She seemed shocked to see me. Obviously, she recognized him, but it was too late to do anything about that now. He guessed her to be about his age, but she certainly had aged more gracefully than he had. The woman was tall and thin. She would easily catch the eye of most men, but Severus felt wary of her. He stood when the door opened and Miss Catherine came back into the room.

“You can sit. She’s not quite ready for us yet,” Miss Catherine smiled at him as she walked over to pour herself a glass of wine. Without asking, she refilled his glass on the coffee table. “When I first met Hermione, she was a nervous little thing. She nearly jumped out of her skin the first time I touched her,” she told him. 

Severus wasn’t sure where Miss Catherine was going with this, but he feared he was going to be rather uncomfortable if she continued. The woman sat down on the couch next to him. He wanted to scoot a little further away but didn’t want to be rude. She sat so rigidly, he couldn’t help but think of Narcissa. “Miss Granger did mention that you helped her,” he said before taking a sip of wine. He had no intention of drinking more, but it seemed like a better idea than conversing. 

“Mmmm,” Catherine hummed. She turned her body toward him, her knee lightly touching his leg. If she noticed his unease with the contact, she ignored it. “She was nearly buzzing with pent up sexual energy, but the poor thing just couldn’t relax.” Catherine laughed, “she was in quite a snit after I kissed her for the first time. Went on and on about how we shouldn’t just go around kissing people in public, it’s improper, she’s not a lesbian, blah, blah, blah.”

Unable to block out the image of the two witches kissing, Severus mentally begged his member to behave. He struggled internally as the damn woman went on and on about raw sexuality, smooth legs, and…whatever else she said after he used occlumency to block her out. It wouldn’t do to go walking around this place with an erection. What would Miss Granger think if he came to her in such a state? No, he was going to sip his wine and think of Quidditch. Images of the girl sitting in his class eagerly awaiting his instruction threatened his composure. He bit his cheek to draw his focus back to who was going to win this year’s cup. 

During the war, he had been far too taxed to fight these feelings. He had never crossed that line with a student, but in the privacy of his own room… He had always felt ashamed afterwards, but everything he was dealing with distracted him from loathing himself for too long at once. He had to have something. He couldn’t just walk around occluding, tense, and frustrated every single day for the last two years leading up to the end of the war. He would have snapped. He would have strangled Potter or told the Dark Lord to fuck off. He would have lost his shit and ended up in St. Mungo’s, unless he died from a stroke first. He nearly cracked when he felt a delicate hand on his thigh.  


“I think she’s about ready for us, Professor,” Miss Catherine announced before standing up and vanishing their nearly empty glasses of wine. Without waiting for him, she headed out of the room and into the hallway.


	5. The Correction

Chapter Five: The Correction  
Hermione flinched at the sound of Miss Catherine shutting the door behind her and looked at the side of the desk in front of her. Foolishly, she hadn’t thought Catherine would be this upset about her little omission. She was worried about what Catherine might say to Professor Snape, but she tried her best not to think about it. There was nothing she could do about it after all. Catherine was right. She had been completely unprofessional. If anyone she knew had come to her as Professor Snape had, she’d have turned them down immediately. It was a selfish decision and one she had told herself she was making out of a desire to help him. Instead, she had royally screwed things up. He didn’t deserve that, and guilt was now gnawing away at her. She brushed away a tear from her cheek, and tried to focus her attention back on righting her wrong with him. 

Nearly fifteen minutes had passed, and Hermione suddenly worried that Catherine may be so upset she would not follow the plan for this evening. This was already going to be uncomfortable enough for her without that happening. Panic was raising in her chest now, she struggled to keep her breathing even. Realizing she no long had control of the situation, she had to remind herself that she trusted Catherine.

With a snap, the door flew open and Catherine swept in closely followed by Professor Snape. The latter stopped abruptly at the site of her in her Gryffindor uniform kneeling at the side of the desk in his mock classroom. His eyes scanned the room briefly before snapping back to hers. He looked as though he was about to say something, but Catherine beat him to it.

“Professor, please have a seat over here,” she gestured to the chair behind the desk Hermione was on the floor next to. 

He looked slightly irritated, and Hermione could imagine him saying something like, ‘ridiculous charade, or a piss poor recreation of his classroom’. Hermione swallowed hard listening to his quiet footsteps on the stone. Expressionless, he sat in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest. He was clearly already getting impatient. 

Catherine must have noticed this too. She quickly instructed Hermione, “stand up. Look at me.” When Catherine’s blue eyes met Hermione’s she said in a strict tone, “your transgressions are more than you originally admitted to me. I am quite displeased with you, and, as such, the consequences will be adjusted accordingly.” Hermione’s blood ran cold. Catherine was not going to stick to the script that loosely mirrored Professor Snape’s fantasy. She closed her eyes trying to flee the only way she could in the moment. “I told you to look at me. Open your eyes. Don’t go making this even worse for yourself. Now, bend over the desk, palms face down.”

“Yes, Miss Catherine,” Hermione said quietly feeling slightly ashamed. Apparently being scolded by Professor Snape wasn’t nearly as embarrassing as being scolded by someone else in front of him. Glancing at him as she turned to face the desk, she noticed he was looking between the two of them seemingly confused about what they were talking about. At least Catherine hadn’t told him that much. Hermione could tell she was already starting to blush and was even more embarrassed for it. She leaned over the desk until her abdomen rested on it and placed her palms flat on the top a little higher than her shoulders.

Catherine’s laughter was quiet, but it seemed to fill the room or Hermione’s ears. She couldn’t tell which. The witch leaned down to look Hermione in the eye and said, “Did you honestly think I was going to let you get away with that?” Her eyes sparkled with amusement as her gaze shifted to Professor Snape. “You are going to face the other way, Miss Granger. You’re going to look at Professor Snape while you take your punishment like a good girl. ”

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Hermione was suddenly struck with the full weight of her decision to have Catherine help her. It was times like these that Hermione secretly wished she had been a Slytherin or even a Ravenclaw. There was absolutely no Gryffindor way out of this. Sometimes she forgot that Catherine could be just as sadistic as she could be gentle. She just prayed that Catherine wouldn’t derail it to the point of not being about getting Professor Snape to act on his own desires. No, she wouldn’t do that. Catherine was the one person who knew, after all. 

“You’ve earned yourself the cane, I do believe. Professor Snape, would you be so kind as to hold Miss Granger’s hand? She’s going to need it. This will be most painful.” Catherine’s tone was one of mock sympathy, which she knew Hermione hated. Picking up the cane from the cabinet, Catherine asked, “What’s this rubbish?” She rolled it over between her fingers and it stretched itself to be longer and thinner, giving it more bite. “That’s better,” she cooed coming back to Hermione’s side. 

Turning to look at Professor Snape, Hermione couldn’t help but blush further. She was relieved to see that he was not looking at her but at Catherine. Hermione felt Catherine lift the bottom of her skirt up so that it rested on her lower back. She watched Professor Snape’s eyes follow there. His head turned toward her, but his eyes lingered on her innocent looking white knickers before snapping to meet hers. After hesitating, he reached up to place his hand over her. His fingers curled under her palm. It was the first time he had touched her, she realized. His hand was warm but rather rough compared to Catherine’s. 

His eyes left her again, and Hermione felt Catherine’s tapping in warning on her ass cheeks. Swish, crack! “Ahhh,” Hermione felt white hot pain shoot through her. That was as hard as Catherine had ever caned her. Merlin, she must be upset. She gripped Professor Snape’s hand hard and her eyes watered. “One, Miss Catherine,” Hermione whimpered. Her professor looked at her when she spoke. His eyes were wary. She could see the fear on his face. She knew this would be triggering for him, but she also knew he needed to move past this rather than avoid it. 

Once again, Hermione felt the tapping, but she was surprised that it was the exact same spot as the first. Her fear was causing her to pant in anticipation. Whack! “Uh-haaa,” escaped her mouth. Her legs jerked out of her control, and this time she felt his hand tighten on hers. She looked up into his eyes through her wet ones trying to blink away the blinding pain. He was breathing more heavily now, and she wondered if he was excited by this as well as worried. The conflicted look in his eyes told her it was both. Gods, she wanted to arouse him. She would do anything including allowing Catherine to blister her backside. Catherine’s hand came down on Hermione’s ass and Hermione hissed at the contact. “Two, Miss Catherine,” she said as soon as she remembered herself.

“I know that must have hurt, Miss Granger. I’m sorry I have to punish you this way,” Catherine said. “A lie by omission is still a lie, and I cannot allow you to lie to me.”

Back in control of her breathing, Hermione replied to the witch, “I’m sorry you have to punish me, Miss Catherine.”

“I’m sure you are, but you’re not going to talk your way out of this,” she said tapping for a third time on the same spot. Hermione whimpered. Swish, Crack!

“Ah-hu, mhmm,” Hermione knew she sounded like a bawling child, but she couldn’t help it. Her brain had gone fuzzy.

“Stop. Please, stop. You are hurting her,” she heard Professor Snape say. She was only vaguely aware of her hand trembling in his at this point and she couldn’t focus her vision on him yet. 

“Am I?” Catherine asked moving closer to Hermione. She reached up and roughly rubbed Hermione between the legs before yanking her panties down around her ankles. Hermione made a noise at the contact, which to her horror, reminded her of a teenage boy who had just cum in his pants. A tap on the calf made Hermione lift each leg in turn allowing Catherine to remove her sopping wet knickers. Catherine handed them to Hermione and instructed, “give these to Professor Snape, Miss Granger.”

Hermione gave Catherine a pleading look. She couldn’t be serious. This was like she was being punished for slaughtering a bloody unicorn for Merlin’s sake! Hermione held them out to Professor Snape, never meeting his eyes. Slowly, he took them from her. She worried he was disgusted.

“You look embarrassed. Do you want him to give them back to you?” Catherine chided.

“No, Miss Catherine,” she answered still not looking at either of them.

“And why is that?” Catherine pressed.

After a moment of thought, Hermione replied firmly, “I want him to see that I like the cane.” 

“Thank you for stating the obvious, Miss Granger. Was she this insufferable as a student, Professor?” Catherine asked looking to Professor Snape.

His eyes snapped up to her sharply, and he gave her a long calculating look. Hermione desperately wanted to look at Catherine to see how she fared caught up in his piercing gaze because she knew if he had given her that look, she would have wet herself. She kept her head down though. At least Catherine was forced on him for the moment. 

“You have no idea,” he answered reluctantly.

“You and I both know there is another reason, Miss Granger. I want you to tell Professor Snape why you don’t want him to give them back,” she instructed, the fire sparkling in her eyes once again.

Grimacing, Hermione thought about how Catherine always knew exactly what to say to get her to respond however the hell she wanted. After deciding answering would be less painful than the cane, she looked at him and confessed, “I want you to like them, Sir.” His only indication of surprise was a slightly raised eyebrow. 

“You really are brave aren’t you, my little Gryffindor? Professor, why don’t you tell Miss Granger what you think of her gift? They’re quite lovely if you ask me,” Catherine said moving her hand to touch the wet spot.

“Don’t!” Professor Snape snapped, his nostrils flaring. Catherine withdrew her hand, and it took the Professor several seconds to fix his mask of indifference back in place. “They are a generous gift,” he ground out. His sudden possessiveness over her soiled undergarment made Hermione feel light headed. She was only vaguely aware of his answer. 

“Indeed,” Catherine purred. She grabbed Hermione by the back of the elbow and pulled her into a standing position. Hermione’s skirt fell back in place, and she could feel Catherine’s soft breasts pressing into her back. “Have you learned your lesson, Miss Granger? Professor Snape seems to think you have.”

“Yes, Miss Catherine,” Hermione’s breath caught in her throat as the woman’s hand snaked around her torso, unbuttoning the top two buttons of her shirt. Her pulse pounded in her ears. She could have used a break after what had just happened, but apparently, Catherine had other plans. The witch’s hands abandoned the buttons of her shirt. One trailed down to her thigh and then back up causing her skirt to sneak upward only just barely keeping her covered from Professor Snape’s eyes. The other slowly caressed down her stomach.

“Do you remember the first time I touched you like this?” Catherine whispered as she slid her hand down the front of Hermione’s skirt. Professor Snape’s eyes were fixed on the skirt blocking his view. His smoldering gaze nearly caused it to combust. 

Hermione shook her head no and pleaded, “please, Miss Catherine.” It was personal, private. He had no right to know about that, and she had no right to share it.

“Oh, but I think he’ll want to hear this. If he is anything like me, which I suspect he is, he will enjoy this story,” she said darkly. Professor Snape’s eyes slowly moved up her body to look between the two witches.

“When I first met Miss Granger I was heartened by her little problem. Once I was able to convince her to let me help her, I took her to my study. I gave her two glasses of wine to loosen her up a bit. I asked her if there was anyone she could imagine giving over control to; anyone that made the thought arousing. Lucky for me, she said yes. I had her close her eyes and imagine them as I touched her. It had taken me a week to be able to touch her innocently without her flinching, so I was quite surprised she didn’t resist me. Do you know what she said when she came on my fingers?” Catherine asked looking over Hermione’s shoulder at Professor Snape.

Hermione was sure she was about to die from embarrassment, if that were possible. At least if she died, she wouldn’t have to face this. She opened her eyes and looked at her him. He wore a slightly disgusted look on his face. Hermione imagined he was thinking Hermione had been envisioning Ron, or worse, Harry. He shook his head slowly in a way that conveyed disapproval.

“Professor,” Catherine said calmly.

“Pardon?” Professor Snape replied in confusion having apparently missed something.

“She said ‘professor’,” Catherine gave him a devilish grin and turned back to Hermione with her lips almost touching her ear, “Oh yes, she’s a very naughty little school girl, indeed.” Catherine gave another little laugh and added, “Did you know she was still a virgin when I met her? Of course that means that the first time she let anyone touch her, she got off thinking about you.” Catherine let her words hang heavily in the air for a moment. She turned back to Hermione and snapped, “look at him.” 

Hermione wouldn’t have believe someone could look flabbergasted, turned on, and angry all at the same time, but proof it was possible was looking her straight in the eye. Her thighs trembled as if she had just run a marathon. The adrenaline had to go somewhere, she supposed. It certainly wasn’t being used up with her standing there in her own personal mental hell. 

“I want you across his lap,” Catherine barked withdrawing her hands from Hermione’s body. “Now, Miss Granger, unless you want the cane again.” 

Hermione’s nerves were frazzled to the point she thought she might vomit, and, upon feeling Professor Snape’s enormous member pressing firmly into her the side of her abdomen, she feared she might pass out.

Catherine came around the other side of Professor Snape and dropped to meet her eyes, “do you think he likes you being over his knee, Miss Granger? Tell me, is he hard yet?”

“God I hope so,” Hermione breathed nervously, “Miss Catherine,” she added almost a little too late.

“That big, is he?” Catherine chuckled. “Tell me, what kind of little girls give their professors erections?” she asked innocently, as if that was not absolutely filthy sounding.

Hermione cringed. How much worse could this get? “Naughty girls, Miss Catherine.”

“Indeed. It’s cruel of you, don’t you think? To get Professor Snape all worked up with no way to relieve himself. I don’t know how he managed, honestly. Pretty little thing that you are, always pretending to be so innocent. Tell him you’re sorry,” Catherine cooed. She was enjoying this entirely too much. 

For fuck’s sake! Really, Catherine? “I’m sorry for arousing you, Professor Snape.” Never, ever again would she omit anything when talking to Catherine. 

“Get out,” Professor Snape growled. Hermione moved to stand but felt Professor Snape’s forearm press down along her spine, his hand resting firmly across her lower back. There was a long moment of silence which worried Hermione. She wasn’t sure what Catherine was going to do. Yes, she had told Catherine that she trusted him with her life, but that didn’t mean she trusted him not to hurt her. All the years of pent of frustration coming out…and at her…gods, she was scared. Hermione flinched as the door clicked shut. They were alone.


	6. The Burden of Responsibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for anyone sensitive to sexual abuse

Chapter Six: The Burden of Responsibility

Hermione felt Professor Snape’s other hand come up over her skirt and ghost across the welt Miss Catherine left on her bum. He had just sounded like a feral animal, so it surprised her when he spoke softly, “do you have any idea how many times I’ve thought of having you like this? Over my knee.” She didn’t answer because it sounded like a rhetorical question. She was every girl who had ever unknowingly tortured him, and he was ready to retaliate. He was a well of untapped sexual carnage lurking in the shadows waiting for a mistakenly trusting, innocent victim. Her fear was building, and he was doing nothing to ease it. His right leg moved out from under her, and she felt it press against the backs of her thighs pinning her in place. 

She was trapped. It was a confusing desire that Catherine taught her to appreciate. It was okay to be afraid. It was also okay to be excited. And it was okay to be both at the same time. The two were rather closely related actually; sweaty hands, increased heart rate, quivering muscles ready to be used, spinning thoughts, and a desperate need of one sort or the other. Fight or Flight. Was the urge too much or just enough?

“You tempted me so cruelly,” he explained. Hermione could feel the rise and fall of his chest against her side. “I detested you at first. Make no mistake about it, but the older you got… and with your relentless pursuit of my approval…I tried to belittle you out of your determination to please me, but you were persisted. You were the worst one. ” 

“I’m sorry, Sir,” she said breathlessly. She had no idea he had those kinds of thoughts about her specifically. If she had known…the trouble she would have gotten herself into! That was a frightening thought, and it mercilessly ripped into her self-control. She had to resist rubbing her throbbing clit on his leg. It was begging for contact, but his needs were greater.

A small growl escaped him in response. “I knew I could have done whatever I wanted to you. So eager for praise.” His words went straight to her needy sex, and she squirmed in his lap. He held her tighter, restricting her movement. She felt his hand run down the back of her leg and slowly make its way back up over her hamstring and rest at the hem of her skirt. His touch made her swoon. She was sixteen again, watching him sweep through the classroom seducing her with his voice. 

“I should be punished, Sir,” she whimpered. “I deserve to be punished.” She started to doubt herself when he remained silent, but then she felt his hand slowly push up the bottom of her skirt as it caressed her tender cheeks. He tucked the bottom of her skirt into her waistband and reached for his pocket. Hermione felt the sting of Catherine’s caning fade and realized he must be healing the marks. Unsure why he would do such as thing she questioned, “Sir?”

“Quiet,” he snapped. 

Too afraid to challenge him, she sat there mutely. Waiting for what, she did not know. Smack! “Ah,” Hermione gasped not expecting the sudden sting of his strike without warning. Her ears were buzzing, her heart was hammering away in her chest, and she wanted more. “One, Sir,” she breathed.

“NO. You will thank me, Miss Granger. Unlike your precious Miss Catherine, I am perfectly capable of counting,” he seethed. 

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir,” she said squeezing her legs together to relieve the pressure that was building. She thought he had sounded jealous of Catherine, but he didn’t allow her mind to wander.

“I don’t think so,” he chided. She felt his hand slide between her legs half way down her thigh. “Legs apart,” he instructed putting pressure on the inside of her thigh, separating her legs enough for her to feel exposed. She wasn’t sure how much he could really see from his position, but it still made her feel vulnerable. His hand slid up her thigh not quite reaching her sex but coming in contact with the dampness that had spread down her leg a bit. His hand left her, and she almost whimpered at its loss.

Smack! “Mmm,” Hermione hummed. Smack! Another blow. Smack, Smack, Smack! “Ahhh,” she cried trembling in his lap. Blow after blow came down upon her until she was so raw the cuff of his sleeve brushing across her made her jerk violently. Her ass stung, and she wiggled against him rubbing his erection. “Thank you, Sir,” she panted. 

“You are not supposed to be enjoying this, Miss Granger,” he warned threateningly. 

Her eyes widened in fear. Was he going to spank her harder? “I’m sorry, Sir. I can’t help it.” All the emotion of the evening came to a head, and tears started running down her face. Burying her face in her hands, she sniffled, “I’m sorry, Professor Snape.”

Caressing her burning backside, he asked, “It hurts doesn’t it? The throbbing,” he clarified, his voice sounding farther away as if he were talking more to himself.

“Y-yes, Sir,” she pouted not daring to move. 

“You want me to make it better, don’t you, Miss Ganger?” coaxed.

More than anything. “Yes, Sir. Please,” she pleaded.  
“Here?” he asked rubbing her blistered bum some more.

She whimpered again from the pain. Clearly he wanted her to beg for him. The thought was so humiliating, yet it made her ache for him even more. He was asserting his dominance over her, and she was basking in it.“No, Sir. Between my legs. Please touch me, Sir. Please. I need you to touch me, Professor.”

“Good girl,” he purred as he slid his hand down her backside and between her legs.

Hermione nearly cried as he caressed her beaten bottom but moaned as she felt his slim fingers lightly trace down her wet core and back up purposely avoiding touching her clit. It was where she wanted him most, and she knew he was teasing her intentionally. It was punishment for all the times she had apparently caused him grief. 

“I thought you were letting those boys touch you, but you weren’t. Were you? You never let them touch you here. Did you?” he asked in his usual silky tone. 

“No, Sir,” she quickly responded. “I didn’t. Never would have.” Hermione closed her eyes and struggled for more words as his finger continued to idly trace her outer lips further spreading her wetness. “I never wanted them to.”

His relief was palpable. “What did you want, Miss Granger, when you were in bed at night touching yourself once the others had fallen asleep?” he asked quietly.

Another snivel came before she answered. She really didn’t want to talk about her Professor Snape fantasies. A part of her was still too embarrassed to talk about them. “It was wrong. I was so ashamed, Sir. I can’t.” She shook her head hoping he would move on yet knowing how unlikely it was.

“Answer me when I ask you a question, Miss Granger,” he snapped, halting his movement with his hand.

She pleaded guilty to her one man jury desperately wanting him to keep touching her, “I wanted you to touch me however you wanted. I wanted you to want me that way. I wished you would force yourself on me, so I didn’t have to own wanting you to do indecent things to me.” She sobbed again, “I’m sorry, Sir.”

He let out a quiet groan and lifted his hips to press his erection into her. “Did you have no idea how dangerous having those thoughts about me was? What if I had lacked the self restraint to stay out of your mind?” he hissed in newfound anger. 

Hermione wasn’t sure if he was angered by her answer or by his reaction to it. Opting for honesty, she responded, “I tried to block it out. I knew it was bad but just couldn’t help it, Sir. I would have let you do with me as you pleased, and I-“she hesitated before continuing unsure of how he would take it, “I wouldn’t have told anyone-,” she trailed off. She wanted to push his buttons and make him think about getting away with it. Hermione moaned loudly as she felt two fingers press deeply into her wet pussy. He twisted them, so his palm was facing the floor. Slowly, he rubbed her bladder from the inside, setting every nerve on fire.

“It could have been our secret,” he whispered. “Do you still want that, Miss Granger? You want me to do unspeakable things to you? Whatever I want so long as I carry the burden of both of our guilt, hmm?” he sounded a bit breathless and angry. When she nodded, he pulled his fingers from inside of her. He pressed his index finger to her swollen clit, as if holding the mute button during down time in a conversation. It made her vividly aware of every surge of blood her heart was pumping out at it. “Why don’t you try asking me nicely?” he advised. 

“Oh, god,” she groaned, “Please, Sir. Please do with me what you want. Show me what you wanted to do to me. I would have begged you then if I thought you would give in. I’d have let you be the first to strip me bare and touch me, and I would have loved it. I would have been yours to play with and no one else’s.”

“Mine,” he said to himself as shoved his fingers back into her forcefully. He seemed to be floating away with his thoughts. “I don’t think I’m going to fit in here. I would have expected someone like Miss Catherine to have loosened you up a bit. Not that I mind doing it for myself,” he murmured stretching her with a third finger. Her resisting body squirmed in his lap, but he held her tight. When she hissed at the sensation, he cooed, “Shhh. It’s okay. That’s it. I want you to take it like a good girl. Can you do that for me?” Hermione wasn’t one hundred percent certain that he wasn’t delirious with desire at this point, and that worried her; although, it could have been her mind that was clouded over. 

Before she could nod, as she was incapable of speech at the moment, he pushed his thumb against her clit and flexed his fingers slightly, stretching her wider than anyone ever had before. The added burning sensation proved to be too much, and she squeezed his fingers out a little with each trembling pulse. Professor Snape fought his way back in each time her tight body tried to expel him. Hermione thought she heard him say she was a good girl again through the ringing in her ears, but she wasn’t certain. For all she knew, it could have been Lucifer himself.

She came down from her orgasm, and her pussy felt like it had been through hours of rough sex. She was sore, and it stung quite a bit. He hadn’t even fucked her yet! While that had nudged at her physical limits, it certainly wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle. She was grateful he allowed her to catch her breath before making her move.

“Stand up,” he commanded. When Hermione complied, he pulled her down to straddle his lap. She nearly blacked out from the rough handling of her victimized bum, but he paid no attention to her plight. While she was completely flush, he barely had a pink tint to his pale cheeks. Professor Snape looked down between them and reached around her back. He pulled her up his legs, so her wet crotch could snuggle his restrained member. Hermione grabbed onto his forearms, but he quickly corrected her, “No,” he said as he pushed her elbows back to rest on the desk behind her. 

Before Hermione could contemplate her current position, he began unbuttoning her shirt. He was too focused on his task to notice her studying him. With the last of the buttons free, he let her shirt fall open. Running a hand up her smooth stomach, he practically purred his approval of her slender form and small breasts. He pulled at her bra where it met in the middle. Hermione was surprised to see it had vanished when she looked down. Both of his hands curved around her ribs leaving his thumbs to molest her nipples. 

He seemed lost in thought while he teased the puffy rings into taught peaks. “Is this all you wanted to do to me, Professor?” she asked trying to draw him back out. She worried she may lose him if she didn’t keep him on tract. Perhaps her reprieve was too long for him, and his conscience was wagging a finger in his face.

“No,” he admitted still focused on her pretty pink pebbles.

“Then show me,” she pleaded. “You’ve earned it. Haven’t you? After all this time?” she went on trying to reel him back in before he flopped his way off of her hook. “You’ve behaved yourself this whole time. Haven’t you? You never spanked any of us. Never frisked us when you knew we had stolen from you. Never ran your hand too far up our leg and brushed our sex. Never kept any of us behind when you caught us in a deserted corridor with a boy who didn’t know what he was doing.” He only shook his head, but she could tell he was starting to breathe more heavily, so she pressed him further. “I know you wanted to. You wanted to take advantage of our vulnerability. You wanted to show us what our bodies were capable of. We deserved it. Didn’t we?” Professor Snape began rolling her nipples between his fingers as he continued to shake his head. 

Done with her gentle coaxing, Hermione went for the jugular like the lioness she really was, “I knew.” He looked up at her finally. “We all knew. We did it on purpose. All of us knew how much we tortured men like you. We knew we were torturing YOU. It was always on purpose. Never an accident. We bent over in front of you, and let you get a glimpse of what you couldn’t touch. We brushed by you in the halls and shortened our skirts a few inches. He even made errors preparing ingredients, hoping you would touch us when you showed us how it was supposed to be done. We intentionally acted promiscuous on your patrol nights. Did anyone go so far as have you catch them while they were indecently exposed? ” His jaw clenched, and his nostrils flared. 

“Do you remember that time I spilled my quills near your desk? One of them went under it by your feet, but instead of cleaning up my mess with magic, I got on my hands and knees. I did that for you. I went around and nearly crawled under your desk hoping that it would make you think of what else I could do for you down there. I wanted you to crave my mouth around your cock. I-ah!” Hermione gasped as he pinched and pulled hard on one of her nipples.

“I remember,” he snarled grabbing her by the throat with his free hand. “And I did. I wanted to choke you with it,” he said darkly squeezing her tighter. 

Hermione rubbed herself into his erection calling his bluff, “why don’t you now, then?” She watched as Professor Snape brought his hands to his lap to free his aching cock, and felt the typical stinging sensation of wizard waxing. She had only had a little landing strip of hair to begin with. “Do you have some sort of problem with pubic hair, Professor?” she teased.

“I don’t like it,” he said through clenched teeth, finally freeing the beast from its cage. He quickly pushed her plaid skirt up to inspect the precision of his wandless charm.  
She blushed furiously being so exposed, but she couldn’t take her eyes away from his dick. It was long, thick, and wrapped in pulsing veins. Its thick head, pink and swollen, protruded past his foreskin. Hermione felt his fingers on her pussy, but they were gone as soon as she looked down. Instead, she saw his wet digits circling around his weeping tip. 

Reaching an arm around her and gripping an ass cheek, careless of her sensitivity, he forced his cock down by the base and lifted her up enough to catch is head on her awaiting entrance. He let go of her ass, and his arm slid up around the small of her back to pull her to his chest. Hermione’s heart beat pounded in her ears as she teetered on top of him like she was on some kind of perverted seesaw. The tips of her toes barely supported her. 

The angle of feet her feet lessened a few degrees at a time as he forced her body to accept him. Her fortress barricade was no match for his battering ram, and she had no reinforcements. She tried to stifle a whine of both pain and bliss as he relentlessly impaled her. There was no going back, apparently, not even for more lubrication. Sure, she was wet enough, but his dry member soaking up every ounce of moisture around her entrance as it fought its way into her palace left her chafing; she loved it. She loved it because it made him feel even bigger or made her feel tighter. Did it even matter which? 

Yes! Yes, it mattered. Good Gods! She was only thinking about herself. Again! This was supposed to help him. It was NOT ‘Hermione, indulge yourself as a reward for being such an amazing healer day.’ Fuck! She needed to put the focus back on him and quickly. “Professor,” she whimpered.

Luckily, he was ready to engage with her, even though his eyes were locked on their point of connection. “Hush. It’s almost in. Just a little more,” he said in a daze as he pushed through until he was nestled up against her cervix snugly like a baby kangaroo who was a few days too big to fit comfortably in his mother’s pouch. Like the Joey’s mother, she stretched to accommodate him without complaint. Someone may as well have shaken her brain in her skull when he crushed her into his pubic bone and said, “You’re being such a good girl, Miss Granger.” He had a death grip on her hips and her clit was at the mercy of his desire for abrasive contact.

She drew in a shaky breath willing her sex not to get too close to the edge. Professor Snape put a finger in her mouth. She circled it with her tongue, but he withdrew it before she could properly worship it. She searched his face not understanding until- “uh,” she gasped as he circled the tight pucker of her ass. He pressed gently but not enough to enter her.

“Tell me you want it, Miss Granger,” he demanded. 

The serious expression on his face made her mouth go dry. “Oh, please, Sir. Please finger my ass,” her desire was too great for hesitation. 

“That’s my brave little Gryffindor,” he purred as he pushed his finger inside her slowly. She rocked her hips against him in response and felt his silky pubic hair tickle her clit. Her thighs clenched the sides of his legs as an orgasm rippled through her. The world seemed to fade away. She heard him groan at the sensation of her walls contracting around his already restricted member buried deep inside her. She could feel his hand on her hip tighten in a bruising grip keeping her still until her walls stopped seizing. 

Completely disoriented Hermione asked, “Did you come, Sir?”

“No,” he deadpanned, “that was you.” 

Before Hermione could retort, he stood lifting her up with him. He laid her back against the desk and pulled her by the ankles until her bum was just over the edge of the wood. Fleetingly, Hermione thought of how sad it was that he had never allowed himself or any witch this pleasure while she looked up into his eyes. He interrupted her musings when he pulled hard on her nipples. She cried out, and it seemed to encourage him to pull harder. The tepees on her chest were surrounded by the little dancing feet of the circling Indians stinging her flesh, making it go numb. She’d never heard of a fire dance before.

Professor Snape released her nipples and pushed her legs down, so her knees almost touched the desk. The urge to close her legs was great, and she had to fight it with all her will. She was easy prey for this famished predator. Would he rip her apart like a wolf, or would he play with her beforehand like a feline? Her question was answered when he smoothed his hands up her thighs to meet at her exhausted sex. Hermione worried she looked a mess down there. Red, swollen, and sloppy, she figured, but he seemed more enthralled the more he tenderized her flesh. Did he see her as how she felt? Was he looking at an oven roasted, honey-glazed, petite witch tenderloin? 

His hands manipulated her like a suspicious investigator, and it made her nervous. He prodded and pulled. Pinched and rubbed. The exam was too much to bear, and she tried to close her legs. Apparently, that was a mistake. He gave her a stern look of disapproval, forced her to open back up to him, and stuck her clit leaving no doubt it was a punishment. Her mind screamed but nothing more than a choked sob came out of her mouth. All the blood in her brain rushed to the scene of the crime. Hermione’s abandoned mind didn’t process his invasion until the head of his cock was thudding into place past the barrier of her anus. 

The swift insertion left her body rigid, and she started to hyperventilate. Yes, she’d had anal sex before but not with a yuletide sized summer sausage. His only attempt at consolation was his thumbs massaging either side of her clit. He worked himself in and out of her slowly, perhaps to keep her from careening off the other side of the desk. 

Oh, if he had done this to her one evening when she’d come asking about an assignment, she’d have been ruined. She’d have been sentenced to a lifetime of disappointing sex. Oh, she would have been scared out of her mind, but she would have come crawling back to him begging for her own abuse. It would have been the fastest track to Stockholm syndrome anyone had ever taken. The look of ecstasy on his face while he gazed down at her spread pussy was enough to make her high on herself. 

He had picked up his pace and thrust into her steadily. His thumbs spreading her hole open for his lustful gaze. The occasional finger rimmed her entrance and pushed inward, only to pull her open further. When Professor Snape set his attention on her clit, he rubbed her with enough friction to bring her to the brink of combustion. His hands abandoned their fire starting, but, before she could whine, he penetrated her with two fingers. Probably his thumbs from the feel of it. Pulling her firmly apart without ripping her delicate skin, he groaned at the show, sending her over the edge again. Her walls rippled wildly trying to keep him inside. His will dominated; however, and he was free just in time to expel his release on her wet and battered lips. 

Hermione couldn't help but be mesmerized as he massaged her messy bits while trying to catch his breath. A sense of deep longing griped her as soon as he started manipulating his seed into her. She could feel him guiding drops of cum up and into her waiting womanhood. Having the object of your deepest, darkest desires reveal his complimentary level of depravity was something she thought very few got to experience. Fate was cruel to dangle it in front of her, only to snatch it away. She considered her plan, derailed as it had been, a success, and that meant she’d never see him again. The thought left her feeling as abandoned as her damp pussy as he removed his hands from her to sit back down in the chair. 

She could have a crisis later. Right then, she had to make sure he was okay.


	7. Plight of the Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little look into the struggle Severus is having. I wrote this story with this in mind for his background, but i didn't intend on sharing it unless i wrote a second part. I can only hope to be forgiven for this in my next life!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains many of the story's warnings. If you are at all sensitive to child abuse, hit the back arrow on your browser now. Please.

Chapter Seven: Plight of the Prince

Severus wanted to make a run for it as soon as he was tucked back into his pants, but Miss Granger insisted they talked before he departed. Thank Merlin she had led him to her office because, if she had made him stay in that fake classroom smelling of their sweaty sex one more minute, he would have had a fully blown panic attack. He was pretty sure he was in shock because most of what she was saying sounded like he was under water. 

“Perfectly healthy to engage with a consenting adult,” Hermione told him. He tried not to look as mortified as he felt. He couldn’t believe he’d let himself use her the way he had. Why did he have to lose his composure with HER? She was Minerva’s pride and joy, the Golden Girl of Gryffindor! Christ! If she found out, she’d crucify him in front of the entire student body. She’d give them all bats and permission to have a go at his bits. “-replace the distressing thoughts next time,” she explained. What in the hell was she on about? She seemed relatively unharmed, and he felt grateful for that. But for the love of magic, why did it have to be HER? Of course it would be her. It was always her. Wasn’t it? 

Although he struggled, he had always been able to keep from indulging in his perverted fantasies except when it came to her. He had always told himself that it was because of the pressure he was under, but he knew that was a bullshit excuse. Severus tried not to think about the fact that each time he gave in and took himself in hand it had been her he thought of. It had never been any of the others that made him incapable of resisting the temptation of release. They had all eventually been put off by his cruel disposition and stopped waving their hands to impress him except for her. No one dared disturb him during office hours to ask for extra credit except for her. Each time she had done that, he had taken copious amounts of points from innocent Gryffindors because he was disgusted with himself for having been tempted to abuse his position. 

The only reason he had agreed to see her as a healer was because he thought it was fitting that she be the one to punish him. The thoughts he’d had about her…she deserved the privilege of making him suffer. Was she destined to always be his exception? Now that he’d had a taste of her, would she haunt his mind until she drove him mad with lust and self-loathing? He put his head in his hands and tried to control his breathing.  
“You have to give yourself a break, Professor,” she signed. “Just try what I suggested over the next week. If you think you need more help, I can refer you to a traditional therapist.”

He nodded numbly and stood. He’d had enough for one evening and needed to sleep it off. After Miss Granger bid him farewell, he apparated to the gates of Hogwarts. He tried to wrap his mind around her seeming no worse for wear afterward. Maybe no one had to permanently scarred for him to feel fulfilled. It certainly was something to think about, but not tonight. The long lonely walk back to the dungeons left him feeling exhausted. He passed out face down on his bed as soon as he got back to his living quarters.

Severus woke the next morning fully dressed on top of his sheets. Almost immediately, he was hit with flashes of the night before. He felt dirty; he needed a shower. Remorse gripped him like a parasitic disease. It was going to feast on him until there was nothing left. He wallowed in self-pity, forgoing breakfast until he left for his first class.

At exactly 9am, he flung his classroom door open hoping to frighten a couple second year Hufflepuffs, only to be disappointed. He wondered where the hell those snot-nosed brats were for far too long before he realized it was Sunday. Fuck! He was already losing it. He stormed into his office and grabbed the second year’s essays hell bent of punishing them for having the audacity to not be there to distract him. By the time he was finished, he thought he ought to feel badly for taking it out on his students, but he honestly didn’t give a shit. His only regret was that there weren’t more essays to distract him from thinking about Miss Granger spread out so prettily on his desk. 

By the time most people in Scotland were having a nightcap, he was already half pissed. He sat on his couch staring into the fire. He had already given up trying to block out his thoughts about the previous evening. She had been every bit as delectable as he knew she would be. He mindlessly rubbed himself through his trousers thinking about how sore she must be. The poor little thing. He surrendered to his impulse to stroke himself. Being drunk gave him a handy excuse to give in so easily. It was something he hadn’t done since a few weeks before the downfall of the Dark Lord, and it had been even longer since he’s been drunk. 

Severus leaned his head back and closed his eyes while he squeezed the head of his cock to replicate the tight grip her luscious little body had on it. In his mind’s eyes, he drew one puffy nipple into his mouth to nurse from before biting down. She screamed out in pain. No. No. NO, that wasn’t right. He bit her other nipple and she rocked her hips into him harder. Yes, that’s better. He pulled her head back roughly by the hair as he forced himself up into her. She begged him to stop because he was hurting her. NO! Severus painfully forced himself back into his trousers and stood abruptly. He took a big swig of wine and paced the floor in front of the couch with his free hand fisted into his hair. He growled at his own mind. Furious, he threw the glass into the fire and watched as the wine snuffed out some of the glowing embers at its base. This hadn’t happened when he was fucking Miss Granger the night before. He supposed he should just be thankful for that, but it didn’t make any sense. If he could block it out last night, why couldn’t he block it out now? He took a deep breath as he looked into the fire. It had to be the wine. 

 

“You’re ugly as sin, boy, and you’re never going to be worth anything. You’re going to have to learn to take what you want because life isn’t going to be handing you a damn thing,” he said.

Severus’ stomach turned at the stench of alcohol on his father’s breath. He was sitting on his father’s bed and staring at the carpet between his feet. 

“Get up, boy,” Tobias snarled grabbing him roughly by the arm, forcing him to his feet. He spun Severus around and pushed him toward the bed. “You know what I expect from you. Now, get to it.”

Severus looked at the crying girl tied to the bed in front of him. She looked a few years older than him, probably about fifteen. She also looked terrified laying there naked in front of them. The pleading look in her blue eyes made him hate his father that much more. He hadn’t ask for this. He hadn’t ask for anything. All he had wanted for his birthday was for his father to pretend he didn’t exist.

His hesitancy angered his father. Tobias grabbed him by the back of the neck and snapped, “I told you how to do it. Don’t tell me you weren’t listening.” 

“I was. I was listening. I swear,” he answered in a panic. “It’s just…won’t Mum be upset?” 

“You really are dumb. Aren’t you,” he said disgusted with his son. “She’s just glad it isn’t her. Come to think of it, you should be thankful for that too. I had to go out of my way to get this one.”

“She looks scared. Please don’t make me do this,” he begged his father.

“I’m trying to do you a favor you ungrateful bastard,” he barked. After forcing his son down onto the bed beside the girl, he said calmly, “This is how it’s going to work. Whatever you won’t do to her, I’m going to do to you. Do you understand?”

Severus couldn’t help but cry. Even if he did some of the things his father told him about, there was no way he was going to get an erection. He was just as terrified as the girl looked. “I can’t,” he cried. 

“Have it your way,” he father growled yanking on the button of his son’s pants. Severus tried to cover his face with his hands, but his father ripped them away. Slapping him hard in the face, he seethed, “This was your choice. I’m not going to let you hide from it.”

 

Severus only just made it over the edge of his bed before he hurled all over the floor. Still gasping for air, he looked down at his adult body with relief. As soon as he could stand, he cleared up the vomit and stepped into a seaming shower. Many years had passed since he’d had a nightmare like that. That had been the worse summer of his life. He never had the courage to refuse his father again after that, and he regretted it every single day of his adult life. Perhaps that’s why it had become his greatest insecurity. He made every effort possible to never return to being such a coward. 

The rest of his day was shit. He snapped at no less than a dozen students for the most ridiculous of infringements, even for him. He gave a third year Ravenclaw detention with Filch for sneezing in a corridor and attempting to infect the entire school just so he could get out class for a few days. During his last class of the day, he was watching one of his students perspire over her cauldron and found himself trapped at his desk hiding an erection because the damn chit reminded him vaguely of Hermione Fucking Granger! 

He dismissed them all five minutes early, and, once the last dunderhead left, he glared down resentfully at his offending appendage. He had time to tend to it before dinner, but he didn’t want to provoke the beast. Not after his last attempt. He should have just resigned himself to a sexless, lonely life and called it a day, but nooo! He had to go seeking a bloody exorcism. To attempt repentance because he had deluded himself into having hoped that he wasn’t completely beyond redemption. 

Regardless of whether he was coerced into what he had done to those girls, part of him believed he deserved the lasting interference with his sexual life. Since he left his last appointment with Miss Granger, he had done all he could to dismiss his thoughts of hunting her down and burring his face, among other things, in her cunt. In seeking her help, her forgiveness, he had flipped of the deities, and this was his punishment. A painful erection warded by a live wire ready to strike like a cobra. 

Eventually, he was able to make it to the great hall with enough time to eat. He was determined not to dream tonight, and pilfered through his personal stores hoping he still had a dreamless sleep potion left. He did find one, and he thanked Merlin for his mercy on his corrupt soul. He headed to bed early, eagerly looking forward to at least eight hours of absolutely nothing. He would only exist within a black hole and not one single thing would exist to bother him. To tempt him. To punish him.

Tuesday classes had been more bearable. Severus made it all the way though his workday without losing his temper. During dinner, Minerva insisted on telling him all about her plans for integrating skills across all subjects in one class to give the students a chance to learn how to think on their feet and link skills in one area of magic to another. He stopped listening half way thorough as he focused on his Slytherin students. 

A third of the way down the table, a seventh year boy appeared to be breaking up with a sixth year girl. The boy stood up looking apologetic and exited the great hall leaving the girl to cry over her chicken. The scene made his stomach knot and brought the problem he was avoiding back to the forefront of his mind.

“I told you to stop worrying about hurting them. It’s like a rubber band. It’s made to stretch. Look,” his father explained while stifling the girl’s cry with his free hand.

Severus shook the memory from his head and rubbed his eyes. He had hated it when they cried. He had hated it so much that he grew to love it when they didn’t. His father, the sadistic bastard that he was, drew out the nights with the criers and was even more vicious with them. It wasn’t until Severus was older that he realized that the ones who hadn’t struggled as much were probably used to being handled that way. He had unknowingly preferred the ones that had already been unfortunate enough to have been raped before. Gods! His father really fucked him up in the head. 

He’d had enough dinner to hold him over until breakfast. He had to find a way to cope with this because his problems seemed to be getting worse not better. He would sooner poison himself than spend his remaining days listen to Lockhart ask him who he was. Heading for his chambers, he was determined to try to figure out a solution. Any solution. 

Sitting in his study he gazed pensively down at the parchment in front of him. How did his life come to this? He would sacrifice his left nut if he thought it was a legitimate alternative. As much as he tried, he couldn’t see any other way. He wanted to cry and throw things, but, once the tantrum was over, he would still be sitting here in front of this same blank sheet. He could do this. He had to. He had to write about his feelings.

He hoped for some sort of epiphany. While that did not happen, over the next week he slowly came to realize that Miss Granger may have been right. Maybe there really wasn’t anything wrong with him aside from his inability to stop blaming himself for the abuse his twisted father had put all of them through. In his early twenties when Dumbledore had taught him occlumency, he had managed to block out the intrusive thoughts of that summer as they had come up, but he was still left with vivid memories of his mother’s abuse, perhaps because it had happened over such a long period of time. He never had to witness Tobias force himself on his mother, but he’d heard it many time. He knew what his father was doing to her.

He was still unable to get relief on his own with no one to distract him from his vengeful mind. His memories were determined to sabotage his every attempt. The way forward was clear. He had to find someone as disturbed as he to release him from his self-imposed prison. There was one glaringly obvious problem with this solution. How the hell was he supposed to find an equally sexually devious witch? Who was he kidding? He couldn’t just snatch up a student like the Grinch had Christmas presents, even if one threw herself at him like a sacrificial lamb. There were no other logical options around. He would have to venture out into the world. He would have to socialize, and there was nothing, NOTHING he felt more inept at. 

Throughout the next week he left the castle several times. He had drinks in Hogsmeade, dinner in London, went to a new apothecary, and every night he came home more discouraged than the last. His sexual frustration was growing exponentially. If he could just find a way to clone Miss Granger and keep her locked away in his closet to be let out for playtime, his life would be fan-fucking-tastic. He was becoming desperate, and it was making him irrationally angry with the little Gryffindor witch. 

It was Saturday afternoon, and a large storm system was hovering over northern Europe. As he stood in the astronomy tower looking out over the forest, he fumed at his situation. The thunder seemed to spur on his rage, and, before he knew it, he was storming out of the castle and across the grounds. He was going to give her a piece of his mind. That’s what he was going to do. It ought to make him feel better for at least a short time.

Once outside the gate, Severus apparated into her office’s waiting room. Not waiting for her to greet him, he walked right into her office. It was empty, and the door to the magical room she used to torture clients in was wide open with the lights off. He was becoming suspicious that something was wrong. She wasn’t in the living quarters, nor was she in the bathroom. A noise behind him made him spin around and draw his wand. It was pointed directly at Miss Granger’s.

“What the HELL are you doing here? My wards went off, and I thought someone had broken in,” she huffed lowering her wand. 

He looked her over and noticed her hair was a mess, and she was wearing a baggy shirt and sweatpants. “You’re sick? That’s why you weren’t here.” He put his wand away and tried to remember the telling off he had in store for her.

Sighing, she responded, “I don’t work on the weekends, Professor.” Hermione folded her arms across her chest and leaned back against the door to the hallway. “What can I do for you?”

“What I want is for you to fix what you have done to me. I was better off the way I was before I ever agreed to let you “treat” me,” he said condescendingly. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Professor. I don’t even know what you’re talking about. What exactly is it that you think I did to you?” she snapped at him.

“You are a fraud,” he dismissed her indignant look, “I came to you for help fixing a problem, and all you did was give me another in its stead.”

“And what would that be?” she shouted at him. The little princess was obviously not use to being confronted.

“What would tha-,” he echoed. “At least before…you happened,” he waved at her, “I knew I couldn’t satisfy my cravings. Now I’m left knowing I can, but with no reasonable way of doing so!” Severus only just realized he was still soaking wet from the rain. If he wasn’t so angry with her refusal to take responsibility for making his life even worse, he would have worried about looking like a drown bat.

Hermione rubbed her temples and asked, “What are you talking about? There are plenty of witches who would be more than willing to accommodate your needs.”

Severus was never one to shout if he had any self control left in him, but she was pushing him right over the edge. “Where are they, hmm? How am I supposed to find these women?” He knew that look. He’d be damned if he was going to let her interrupt him. He held up his hand and silenced her like she was twelve again. He seethed, “It’s not like I can just walk up to a woman in Diagon Alley and ask her, “would you please mind dressing up like a school girl and allow me to cause you pain and humiliation strictly for my own sexual pleasure. Oh, and, by the way, I’M A SCHOOL TEACHER!”

“For Merlin’s sake, Severus!” she tried to snap him out of his meltdown by addressing him so casually. “You could try acting like a normal person for once, and ask someone out to dinner.” He shook his head at her. “It won’t be as hard as you think. There are plenty of open minded witches…I enjoyed it,” she admitted.

“It’s your job,” he dismissed her.

“I enjoyed what we did regardless of that fact,” she said calmly.

“Just because you may be as screwed up as I am, doesn’t mean everyone else is,” he rebutted.

Hermione told him, “You have to take the chance of being rejected. Otherwise, you’ll never get what you want….” 

He couldn’t believe she had the nerve to look sad. He didn’t need her pity. Severus apparated back to the gate and made the wet trek back to castle, but he didn’t quite make it all the way to his chambers.

“Poppy?” he poked his head into her office. 

“Severus,” the aging witch greeted him with a smile. “Do you have that burn paste for me?”

Looking sheepish, he shook his head. He held up his hand and waited for the lecture.

Madam Pomfrey’s eye brows shot up. “Well,” she breathed, “it’s been quite some time since you’ve come to me for that. If you’d learn to use your left, you’d be able to mend it yourself. I’d give you a good talking to about controlling your temper, but I’m actually impressed it’s been this long.”

“Yes, well,” he said taking a seat in front of her desk. “It’s been a long day.” He placed his hand on her desk. “Can’t figure out how to get an ingredient to interact the way I want it to,” he lied. It had always been better to give her a reason up front for his visit than to have her beat it out of him.

She nodded while fusing the bone fragment back in place. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You always do,” she smiled at him. 

She had always been gentle with him the way his mother should have been. When Severus was as school boy, he thought she just saw him as job security, but he grew to appreciate her kindness. “Thank you. I’ll have the paste for you Monday afternoon,” he said as he stood and walked to the door of her office.

“Just remember,” she said wagging a finger at him, “don’t get so close to the trees you can’t see the forest…the sum is always greater than all its parts.” 

He smirked at her and headed back down to the dungeons. 

Monday morning came quickly, and Severus found himself walking the classroom to check on each student’s progress. He rolled his eyes at Ms. Carson who was feigning incompetence to get the attention of the boy next to her. She’d been doing it all year. See wasn’t a complete idiot last year, so it was ridiculously obvious. He took ten house points from the pair and went to sit at his desk. He was reminded, painfully, of Miss Granger’s pining for the Weasley boy. That dunderhead was completely oblivious. He watched the pair of students disapprovingly. The girl’s hair was long, black, and silky, much like that Catherine woman’s had been. Miss Catherine.. She’d said something about them being lucky to have found Miss Granger. INSANE woman, he scoff to himself.

Professor Snape scribbled a quick note and stood abruptly. He warned his class while walking to the door, “stay focused on your own work, or I’ll deduct fifty points from your house when I return.” He slammed the door behind him and walked quickly up from the dungeons, across the main floor, up several moving stair cases, across the bridge, and up the spiral of crumbling steps to the west tower. 

Severus walked back to his classroom feeling sick to his stomach over what he’d just done. He paced around his classroom the rest of the day. He hardly touched anything at lunch, and he wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved that he hadn’t received a return owl by the end of his last class. 

He sat in his office grading papers and wondered if she’d think he was mental. Would she agree? Probably not, but he hoped so. Someone barged in as he was writing a scathing remark on one of his laziest student’s essays. He stood as he looked up ready to put the rude chit in his or her place. “Miss Granger?” his heart skipped a beat. Why had she come all the way down here? He certainly hoped it wasn’t to stand there gaping at him like that. He cleared his throat before trying to apologize, “Miss Granger-.”

“Tonight,” she said walking toward him.

“Pardon?” he asked feeling more and more nervous the closer she got to him. He was starting to fear for his bullocks. 

Squeezing between Professor Snape and his desk, Hermione stated, “I’m free tonight. I’d like to have dinner with you tonight. That is unless you’re busy, of course, and then we can do it another night.” 

“No, I’m not busy at all. In fact,” he looked down at the eagerly waiting little witch in front of him and growled, “I’m absolutely starving.” 

Hermione practically shoved him back down into his chair before straddling his lap. “I wanted to kiss you so badly that night,” she confessed. “I just couldn’t. It would have been so inappropr-.” Her words disappeared into Severus’ mouth. He licked and nipped and tugged on her bottom lip until it was damn near bloody. He had every intention of showing her little clit the same kind of attention. Severus stood and wrapped her legs around his waist to carry her into his chambers through the entrance in his office. 

Neither of them made it to dinner that night.


End file.
